15. Collins
Chapter 15
Collins
(AGE 20)
I ’m sitting in the makeshift dressing room, brushing through the long hair of my red wig when my phone rings. It’s weird because everyone who has my number is either here or is my brother. The latter hasn’t contacted me in years, so it can’t be him. I unblocked Creed but have made no attempt to contact him. I couldn’t bear another voicemail from him, begging me to let him help me from my situation.
At first it was anger and pride that kept me from letting him in. Now it’s embarrassment and shame that holds me at bay. I won’t let Creed get mixed up in my business or allow my name and the trouble attached to it to try to cling to him, too.
I’m running behind on getting ready, so I ignore it because if I lose concentration I’ll end up yanking the wig out of place and it takes entirely too long to reset the hairline.
Like I said, I’m already running late for the second set of the night because my boss, Tank—great name, I know—spent thirty minutes yelling at me and counting out the cash I’d made so he could take “his half” and then some. I started to argue when he took even more money from my stack, but I was blinded by the sharp pain of him backhanding me across my cheek that sent me sprawling across the floor of the backstage hallway.
Why? He’s pissed at me because I’d kicked a man—sorry, a valuable member , apparently—square in his fucking chest and knocked him flat on his ass when he tried to grab me three separate times on while onstage.
Oh, but it’s my fault, apparently, that he’s continually losing members because grown-ass men don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. Fuck them. I’m no man’s fucking peacekeeper around here.
Before he stormed back to his office, he yanked me up so hard by my wrist that I felt a pop in my shoulder followed by a burning pain down my arm. Tank had jabbed his meaty finger in my face and spoke so close I could smell the stench of old pussy and cheap vodka on his breath. Fucking gross.
“You fuckin’ work for me, Star. If you can’t follow the fuckin’ rules that I set for the dancers here, I’m sure we can find another way for you to work off your debts. I am a very generous man, after all.” He had said, his beady gaze raking down my body with a hunger that had turned my stomach sour.
I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat at his insinuation. I said nothing, which apparently was answer enough for him because he shoved me out of his way and jerked the door to his office open. Before he stepped inside he turned back to me. “Keep my fuckin’ VIP members happy, Star. Or next time there’s an incident, I’ll be sure to get involved to make sure we all get our… happy ending . You get me?”
I couldn’t argue with him so I nodded reluctantly before he stormed off.
How the fuck did I end up jumping out of a frying pan and into a goddammed fire? Traitorous tears flood my eyes at the same time blurry hand waves in front of my face. I look up to find Jett— one of the few bouncers of the club that I trust— standing before me. When I first started working at Viper, I trusted no one, despite him telling me he only took this job to protect the women here. Only with his actions has Jett proven time and time again for two years that he wants nothing from me but my safety and well-being.
Takes one look at me and sighs at the sight of my disheveled state after Tank sent me to the ground, but doesn’t say a word as he escorts me back to the dressing room area and silently looks over my face and my arm. I can tell he wants to poke and prod at the injuries to check the severity, but he doesn’t touch me.
Before leaving me to get ready, he gives me an ice pack and whispers in a low tone so only I can hear. “I’m not asking you to roll over for them, Star. But you need to rein in the claws a little. I know you’re a tough little shit, but I can only protect you so much while I’m here, and I don’t want to see you hurt anymore. Okay?”
I open my mouth to protest or to simply fuck off , but he holds a hand up to stop me as he clarifies. “That fucker absolutely deserved the blow you landed on him. But I want to keep you out of Tank’s crosshairs. The next time someone tries touching you on stage and I’m watching over you, give me this signal,” he raises his hand above his head with his fingers creating a pistol shape and flexes his thumb once. Easy enough. I nod as he continues, “and I’ll escort the problem from the club. Got it?”
He pulls me in for a hug and I sink into his embrace for a second before I shove him away with a grin that I’m sure doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’ll try.” I sigh, fighting the overwhelming feeling of helplessness over my life situation. “I just fucking hate it here, J.”
“I know.” He says, his voice solemn. “If I could get you out, I would, and you know it. You deserve to be out there chasing the sun, not merely surviving in the dark.”
His words give me pause, sounding so similar to what the taxi driver, Garrick, told me two years ago.
You keep your head up and your face to the sun and I promise it’ll shine on you again .
He doesn’t wait for me to say anything else before he walks out of the room, leaving me to finish getting ready.
Once I’m finally done brushing through the wig, I notice that Tank had not only left a nasty red mark on my face, but he smudged the glittery face paint I’d applied earlier. My stage name here at Viper is Stardust , a tribute to my love of David Bowie and not at all a nod to the man who first stole my heart—and definitely not the one person I dance for in my mind—though the DJ, Pete, continually calls me Star, so it just stuck.
I work quickly to use some cheap concealer to hide the mark, then touch up the red glittery lightning bolt I had painted over my eye. Just as I finish up with blotting powder on my face, Brandi comes barreling through the doorway and nearly tackles Coco, our other aerial artist.
Coco is probably the only other person I can tolerate here, besides Jett. I can’t fucking stand Brandi. She’s a kiss-ass to Tank and a fucking tattle-tale over all the other women here. If one thing goes wrong, her lips are flapping to Tank.
Her high-pitched voice grates on my nerves and I can’t understand a fucking word she’s saying as she speaks to Coco animatedly about some VIP group that just sat down…I think.
She and I share a look that says where’s the fucking duct tape? I turn away to hide the way I have to simultaneously suppress my laughter and hide my smirk over the fact that neither of us can stand her.
I check over my outfit to make sure I’m still properly tucked and strapped in all the right places as Pete pokes his head in the doorway.
“Star, you ready girl?”
I nod, “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”
He cuts a look over to Brandi and Coco, “Brandi, aren’t you supposed to be getting a bottle and glasses for table one?”
“Shit! Yes!” she jumps up from her chair and scoots around me toward the door. “Oh, and Star? ”
I look at her with a raised brow but don’t respond.
“You’re in for a fucking treat tonight.” She winks before bouncing away.
“O-kay.” I drawl slowly, confused as fuck as to what she’s talking about.
“C’mon.” Pete escorts me back to the curtain before he leaves me for the DJ booth.
A few deep breaths later I hear the first few notes of Malevolent Melodies start, followed by the sound of the curtain opening and the spotlight shining on me. I always appreciate the spotlight because when people aren’t flooding the stage, it feels like it’s just me.
And sometimes Creed, when my mind gets away from me.
Letting the intense pounding of the drum flood me, I begin to wrap the silks around my arms, ignoring the burning sensation radiating from my left shoulder.
When Creed’s deep, smoky voice begins to sing, low and slow, about a found love so intense that it’s bound to break, I begin. I pull myself up the silks high enough to start wrapping the fabric around my right leg to move into a Rainbow Marchenko move. I smoothly drop my body upside down, then sideways to allow the silk to wrap a few more times around my leg before I release my hands and hang completely upside-down. I begin to rotate in a slow circle as I move my legs into a split, then into a scorpion pose.
I hear the crowd cheer and one man in particular whoops and whistles loudly. It's moments like these that make my life feel a little lighter. When I’m performing and dancing I’m not Collins Weston, a poor girl from a poor town who has a knack for finding herself in shitty situations. I’m Stardust , an aerial artist, an exotic cage dancer who people wait in long lines to pay to see six nights a week.
The song kicks up in intensity as the guitar and bass join in on the music, Creed’s words about deep betrayal of that love seeping into every fiber of my being as I begin to climb the silks again to get into my next set. I use all of my core muscle to hold myself steady as I begin wrapping each end of the silk strategically around my body. Around my hips and using my legs to wrap them around my thighs, I’m able to hoist myself to a seated position nearly at the top of the silks. I pause, looking out at the crowd, being above the intensity of the spotlight allows me to make out the forms of some of those watching, men and women alike. Some are on their feet, waiting in anticipation, while others watch from over their whiskey glasses with piqued interest.
The music cuts into a tense moment of silence. I wink and blow a kiss right before the beat drops into the intensity of a powerful chorus about how forgiveness will never be a mercy given. In that same moment, I tip my head and drop back, and I begin to unravel and spin out, stopping a mere foot from the ground below me. The crowd collectively gasps before bursting into applause.
I smile to myself as I pull my body upright and plant my feet on the ground once more. The rest of the song plays out as I push through to finish the choreography. After several more drops, spins and poses, I’m breathless. Several men rush to the edge of the stage, tossing wads of cash I’ll never possess, knowing Tank will rob me of almost all of it. I purposely stand toward the back of the stage so that no one can reach me. I’m blinded by the spotlight but I can’t shake the feeling of an intense set of eyes on me. My eyes comb over the tables as I smile and wave, settling on the table front and center. I can’t make out their faces behind the spotlight, but I know the burning stare is coming from that table. I can feel it.
Just as the curtain closes, I let out a small yelp when I run into Tank with a giddy Brandi standing behind him. I flinch when he raises his hand to me, but instead of the hit I anticipate, he brushes the red wig back behind my shoulder almost reverently. It makes my skin crawl.
His breath still reeks of pussy and vodka when he speaks. “You’ll be needed for four private dances, immediately. Same group for all four. Room three.”
Fuck. I grab my shoulder and massage the tender muscle there. “Um, okay. I’ll be there in thirty. I just need to change and ice?— ”
“What part of ‘immediately’ did you not understand?” he spits as he grabs my left wrist, jerking me like a rag doll and I have to bite my tongue to avoid screaming out in pain. Tank has always been a mean bastard, but he’s never been physical before. It fucking terrifies me because now that he’s showing his true colors, the chances of my escaping his debts seems impossible now.